


Calibration

by Wicked_Seraph



Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 19:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked_Seraph/pseuds/Wicked_Seraph
Summary: Something foreboding and tantalizing lurks just beyond the edge of 9S's awareness: knowledge beckoning, secrets begging to be exposed. Every step closer to the answer -- to naming the nameless, to understanding the incomprehensible -- feels like fingers tightening around his throat.[A series of drabbles exploring 2B and 9S's shifting dynamic through NieR:Automata. Potential spoilers all the way through route E, so proceed with caution. Rating and tags will be updated accordingly.]
Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	1. curiosity killed the c[A]t

Fascination is fatal.

He knows there was a less-threatening way that humans used to warn against excessive meddling; the answer is buried somewhere in a subfolder within a subfolder, just on the tip of his proverbial tongue. 

He hasn’t the faintest idea what the correct file even looks like.

Perhaps it’s a jpeg. Perhaps he’ll find the answer among countless images, both significant and meaningless. He imagines he would find it somewhere between a still image of 2B staring just a second too long when he asked the wrong question and the subsequent frame where her shoulders visibly slackened with relief. 

Too much of this space is filled with her. Command would have a fit if they realized just much internal storage is committed to sharp eyes and soft lips, pale flesh contrasted against jet black or the bleak charcoal of Earth’s concrete, to slender fingers and thin wrists contrasted against plump, smooth —

_Focus, 9S._

Not there, then. 

Maybe the answer is buried within the millions of recordings he’s stored. Maybe the answer lay encrypted within YoRHa’s attempts at boosting morale or the low drone of the Bunker’s sterile whiteness. Most likely, he thinks, would be the precise point at which 2B’s calm directives began to take on a slightly desperate edge — or, perhaps, the point at which he figures out that a spike in the artificial staccato of her pulse means that she’s lying. 2B isn’t the type to worry about inconsequential things, nor lie, which makes her refusal to elaborate all the more illogical and maddening.

**2bs_heartrate_130_bpm_11-05-11945.mp3**

_She’s hiding something._

**orders_are_orders.mp3**

_She doesn’t want me to find out._

**emotions_are_prohibited.mp3**

_She’s afraid of me finding out._

**just_do_what_youre_told.mp3**

She…. doesn’t trust me. 

She doesn’t trust me. She doesn’t care about me. Ṣ̡͉͙̾̀́͑h̰̩͓͓̯̽̔͋̐̕e͙̝͗͑͊͜ ͓̜͖̦̓̎͋̉d̖͉͍͗̀͠ǫ̻̜͑̔̕e̟̎s̲̘͑͝n͙̟̜̄͗͘’̨̼̻̥͂̒̃̐t͖͇̬͐̈͊ ̱̫͚̳̈̌̕̚lô̖̖̕ —̹̞̮̌̓

—Not there, either.

Vision and audition having both been ruled out… where else would this strange, ominous dread have been processed?

Touch? Through carbon sheathed in silicon? Through millions of sensors attuned to every fluctuation of heat in her exoskeleton, to the way her lips always seem just a few degrees warmer than her cheeks? 

A̰͆r̳̙͂͛͜͝ë̼͈̖̰̊̍͆͟͞n̞̪̗̆̕͠’̼̦̌͝t̫ ͍̭͒͐yo̤̟͌ủ̪̬͎̾̓ ͓͇̱͊͑͠c̜̙͎̏͠u͕͔̱͋̆͘r͔̘̀̑͘ͅi̹̣̐͂͡ͅó͙ų̛̬̺͋̆ş̛̭̤͒̿͗͜ ̛̬̰̮͗̌w̤͘h̐͢ȩ̢̹͔̑̑͆̔r̬̫̊̋ě̢̛̝̗͍͂͊ ͈̟̂̐e̯̚ḻ͓͌͘s̩̻̈́͛e̫̪̚͝ ̩̊s̛͓̻̄̀̉͜ͅẖe̙̙̱̤̊̍̈́̾ m̝͍̬̜̾͘̕͡i͈̥̻͎͐͐̂̈ğ̪̙̙̰̈́̔̒̈́ͅh͚̺̙̥͒̅̈́̎t̖̙̪͓̾͌͐͒͜͞ ̧̙͘͞b̠̦̱͋͛͞ͅe̢̪͚̹̿̓̊̌ ̦͎̻̿͐̓w̨̪̤̭̍̔͋̇a͚̪̮͆̉̚r̛͎̩̃m̳̳͈̄͋͡?̣͉̉̍̚͢

Warmth drips onto his face, striking against the unfathomable cold that seems to have wormed its way inside every wire. How cruel, that this should be the most warmth he can expect from her. 

This is familiar in a way it shouldn’t be; perhaps he  _should_ remember but can’t. It’s difficult to process anything beyond the shrieking pain and the chaos scrambling his circuits. Whatever he contracted from Eve is violent and turbulent; it takes every ounce of concentration to try to speak past the conflicting directives.

Touch is overwhelming; there’s too much to feel, too much to process: pain, pain, pain, PAIN, PAIN, **P A I N** — and nestled within the cleft, a small, tremulous joy. 2B’s tears are something he can focus on (_warm__ and saline like the womb_, he thinks. _But why _**_this_**_? Why this imagery?_). Everything else is razors and icicles and — 

_I’ve never used a razor. I’ve never seen an icicle. Why would I know what it feels like? Why would I know that _ ** _this _ ** _is what it would feel like?_

_Why do I know?_

_Why can’t anyone tell me?_

_W__hy _ ** _won’t _ ** _anyone tell me?!_

There is something incomprehensibly sad about the way 2B looks at him — sad, and like everything else, damnably familiar in a way that make his pulse quicken with something too dark to be excitement. 

He can feel his awareness growing dimmer. Everything is so garishly pale: the slate of the sky, the water-logged concrete around them; 2B begins to bleed into the scenery, the ivory of her hair and obsidian of her gown blending into a sickly, indistinct grey. The salinity of 2B’s tears against his lips become more dilute with every passing second. Her own mouth twists into a wry, humorless smile.

“You always were too curious for your own good, Nines.”


	2. satisfaction [B]rought it back

“Hey, 2B?”

“Hm?”

“That machine calling itself a ‘little sister’ sure had a lot of questions, didn’t it?”

He knows her well enough to know that a smile would be too obvious a tell from her, but he can hear it in the way she pauses before replying. “Can’t imagine what that’s like.”

9S bends one of his knees, resting his chin against the hand resting on top of it. One leg extends just shy of where 2B sits at the edge of her (_our?_) bed; he resists the impulse to nudge her with the edge of his boot. “Well, but it was asking… strange questions.”

“Strange in what way?”

There’s no way she doesn’t realize what he’s getting at; she hasn’t looked at him once.

“You don’t remember what it asked?”

“Sure I do.”

“And you didn’t think it was… weird?”

“Not particularly.”

9S is silent for a moment. She’s never verbose, but there’s something playful about the way she doggedly refuses to acknowledge the obvious. 

_She’s toying with me_ .

“I just can’t help but wonder why a machine would care about such things,” he continues. “Why would the aliens have cared about human reproduction?”

“Hard to say. Familiarity with another lifeform’s biological processes is valuable intel.”

“Then why not answer its question?”

“I could ask the same of you,” she replies curtly — though, he notes, her pulse fluctuates in a way it never does when she’s genuinely admonishing him. For a moment, he considers how much of a protocol breach it would be to hack into her logic circuits and pry the answer out of her; deflection and deceit aren’t things that come naturally to combat models, which makes him all the more curious why she insists on it.

“Why are you avoiding  _my _ question?”

“There’s no need to provide it with such information. It would have been… inappropriate.”

9S pauses, raising his eyebrows in feigned confusion.

“Why would intel be ‘inappropriate’?”

Hacking has its perks, but so does watching the kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions and directives play across her features. He dips his head a bit lower behind his arm, hiding the smirk he feels tugging at the corners of his lips.

He can’t help himself. “Is there something unusual about the way humans reproduce?”

She clears her throat. “Of course not.”

“Then why not tell her?”

A quiet sigh — not quite defeat. There’s something hidden, something potent, that drags her voice down a few octaves. “It would give her the wrong idea.”

“I don’t think she’d—”

**File found: the_birds_and_bees.avi**

_Fruits glistening and ripe. _

_An hourglass made not of carbon and silicon, but bone and flesh. _

_Eager convex. Slick concave._

_Folds and petals. _

_Teeth and tongue._

_All amidst some kind of rhythmic movements he can’t quite parse. He’s never seen —_

f̓̏͟͟e̠͡E̛͓̝͇͈͂̅͘d͚̿ mȨ̛̫̫̰̈͋̔ ̹̘̝̳̉͒̊͠ḽ̛̰̭͓͑̋͞Ǫ̥̹͌̃̂ṽ͎͊ͅE͎̭͓̔̚

TȞ͍̰̿I̟͋̅͜S̡̞̰͊̒̕ ͖̤̂̀͜͝C̰̩̀̍A̧̢̛̞̜͉͑͒͑͝N̺͈͗̓Ṋ̺̣͛̓̓͜͟͡͠O̦̺̽̈Ț͈͂͂ ̲̹̈́̈C̺̎O̯Ņ̛̟͔̪̋͐̇T̢̄I̧̤͌͘N̤̫̣̖̿̅͊͡U̲̹̓̌̕͟Ę̹͎͐̌͢͟͡

— he has, within the crater where Adam emerged from a machine’s cocoon. 

It should disgust him, seeing machines crudely mimic humanity without comprehension or understanding. It should. Machines are iron welded to iron, planes devoid of the projections and orifices that make copulation possible in the first place. There are no folds, no petals. No teeth, no tongue. Rutting against one another isn’t… that.

W̟͉͇̋̎̚͢͠h͌͟a̭̻̮̓̽͑t̖̯̩̂͐̈́ ͈͘m͕͈̻̲̳̆̾̽́̂a͉̟̦͛̋̿̐͟k͚e̜̟̘̱̓̆̔͡s̼̪͋̌ ̛̗̘͎͞͝͝ͅẏ̠̥̊ou̝ ̣̹̄̋ṱ̏h̤̮͙̉͐̚i͕͚̾̐̇͜n̡̺̺̹̍̓̅͡k̮͚͔̆͋́̕͟ ̳̭͝y̨̢̤̿͛͆ȏ̢̨̺̥̺̊̎͛̃û̼’̛̰̱̹̔̓̐͢r̖͙͖͓͆̍̋̾e̤̋ ̛͙an̪̺͎̜͋̄̚͡ỳ̰̺̟̇͋ ͚̺͐̌d͍͖͖̲̜̊̓͑͌̾i͙̔̌͢ff̝e̖̤̍̐r̩̊ͅé͕̩̝̔̕ṇ̣͎̙̊̍͑̈t?͕͍͚̪̿̽̔ ̫̩̳̻̬̊̔̊͆͞

_I’m not a machine. I’m an android. We were modeled after humans._

Ļ͑o͖̦̠̅̿̓͜ͅơ̧͓̫̝͔͌͒̐̎k̨̛̛͍͇̹̄̕i̱̋n͙̺͖̻͑̐͠͠g̺̰͊̿ ̛͚̲̚ḻ͌i̛͟k̞̺̒̂e͕̖̝̤̭̎̃̅̂̚ ̯̀a͔͖͉̿͌͠ ̻̟͆̚h̨̭̜̄̀̕u̘̚m̺̖̎ḁ̬͈̊̉̒n̤͘ ̩̩̒͐d̛̬̤̍ŏ̲͇͔̉͂̂̄͟͟ė̲̍͘͟͢s͚͠n̨̥̺͋͐́͝ͅ't̢͖͚̰̏́͊͞ ̢̌m̧̛̻̺̽̆a̛̘͓̰̓͡k̡̖̹͇̾̋͛̚ȇ̥̀ͅ ̞̤͇̓̔͂ȳ̹̬͋̀̕͟͢o͙̽ṵ̤͎̈͌̎ ̥̩̠̰̽͆͂̓ǫ̛̱̞̘̽͆̿n̡̜̗̲͊̉̕͜͝͝e͖͒.̞͖̾̋

_I know that. _

W͇̗̟̓͠͞ḧ͎̗͖̰́̈͋̐ã͕̹̋ẗ̻͈̂ ̙̘̮̑͛̆͘͢m̝̤̱͕̭͆̎̄͗͗ȧ̠̤͋k̝̖̘̙̗̂̊͌̇͠e̱̒s̩̗̫̋͒̿ ̢͍̝̝̜̆͗͌͐you̲̞̔̇̔̆͢͢ ̢̟̜͕̜̽͗̂̃͡t̺̲̜̾̎̈ḩ̢̧̝̤͛̈́̍̇̚ink̮ ͢y̨̥̟̬̹͑͊̍̓́o̤̍u̢̦̕͠'͎͕̝̃͌̊r̘̙̼̹͓̾̀̀̒̍e ̹͎̏̃a̳͋n̢̦̈́͛̈́͜y̹̻̭͈͌̊͐͒ ͓̖̘͗̓̾b̼̑̉͢e̝̎͑͟t͖t̯̭̫͔̒̂͛͝͠ͅé̼̦̗̏̒r͍ ̜̩̼͖͒͊̏̆t̳̣̪̾̈́͡h̲̭̟͖͊̈́̑͋a̡͈̳̬͋̃̋͠n̮͔̒̿ ͙͕̽a͉̪͉͛̋͊ ̢̯̘̐̊͢͡͝m̢͇̼̫͌́̍̔͢͞a͕̱͒̕c͎͚̯͊̈̊ḩ̼̞͖̏̂͒͘i̼͐̓ͅn̳͓̬̲̓͆e̳̻͒͠?̧̧̲͉̈̈̾̿͞ͅ

_Machines don’t have hearts or compassion. They don’t understand, let alone why._

Wh̥̭̺͖̊̃̆̕ÿ̫͕̔͜͞ ̼̘̖͇̋͌̑̽͟do͚̅ ̨̹̄̌Y͇̿Ő͈̭̩̮̃̚͘Ų̨̪͐͒̉ ̭̳̹̈̓̀t͍͚̘̂̆̎h̡͕͚͋i̭̩̖̔̄̋nk͍̿ ̧͕͛͋̇͂͜͟h͓̠̲̥̓̈̋ụ̓m͉̯̣͆̊́a̢̨̻̗̋̿̽͂n̮̮͉͓̝̎̃̑̍s̼̜͕͉̈́̋͋͡ ̩̯̄̓t̞̊o̖̖͓̅̊̕ü̱̫̗̝̿̑̔͟c̩̱̤̄̐̒h̨̛̯̮̝̰̎̇̒ḙ̺͖͗͑̂͜͟͡ḋ̥̥̿ on̲͖̽̾͢e̮̱̼͑̓̾ ̟͗a͈̫̓͗ň̟͕͖͖̅̑͞ǫ͖̬͔̫̆̉͗̕͞t̮͠h͇̉͛ͅȇ͇̦̉͘͢r͔͉̳̂́ ̨̲̖̅̐͂l̨͗i̙͑k̢͇̤̈̕e̥̳̅̕ t̢̙͕̒̅h͊͜ï̧͎̦͌͊͡ͅs̢̀̋ͅ?̝͠

_Reproduction. Pleasure. Social cohesion._

He doesn’t like where this thread of questioning is leading. 

N̺͕̑̋͟o͓̰̖̓̆̀͟͡n͚̄͒ͅé̤͈̍ o̡͖͆̋f̙͑ ̝̃t̨̮͓͒̐̍́͜h͖͓̥̀͋o͎͚̊͊s̢̪̊̌ě̜͍̺̿̈́ ̗̥̜̐̌̐e̗͉̦̊̓̂x̥͠p͓̥̬̉͗l̢̦̰̪̎̀̿͝ă̦̟̥̋̾͡ͅi̡̜̪͌͊̿ǹ̢͍̲̜̈́̉̏͟͝ ̬̣̓̉̚͟w͉͙̓̔h̯̬̠̯̿̐̂͘͜͞y̥͓͔͑̂ y̩͐o̭̻͌̏ụ͕̪̓̓́ ͚̥̓̉ḑ͞r̨͕̫̤̻͌̀͋̋̿e̺͗͜͠am̰͍̰̓̊̊͜͝ ̧̟̯̊̀of̖͇̩͂͝ ̃͟͞ͅh̛̩̝͍̫̒͑̇͘͜er̢̦̦̝̔̑͌͘ ̱͕̻̔̓e̼̦͋̕v̼̇e̼͑r̯͇̘̃̽̉̃ͅy ņ̭͍̜̊̆͒̉i͎̣̿͐g̤̖̉̿͒͐͢͟h͔́͟t̘̥̏̃̿͟͜͝,̥̈́ ̻̮͆w͉͖͗̈́h͔̼͆̊y͎͌͑͜ ͈̃ẙ̲̖̅o̝͎̒́̑͢u̧̇ ͓̘̼̟͉̈́̎͐̅͘l͇̭͇̠̋̿͂̊̄͢ong̢̨̳̯̝͑͂͂͐͠ ̺̩̌̌ẗ̹o͉͕̝͐͗̏̚͜ ͚̘̯̳̉̏͐͆-

“… I don’t think she’d understand, even if we did tell her,” he says quietly.

2B looks at him carefully. “Information without understanding is just unnecessary data. It would be inappropriate to burden her with it.”

He smiles bitterly, grateful that he’s much better at lying than she is.

“Good point. Better to leave that kind of stuff to us Scanners, right?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'm a very, very new fan of NieR:Automata, but fell in love with both the story as well as intriguing characters and themes explored throughout. I owe my partner a million thanks for correctly intuiting that I would adore this game and encouraging me to play it. 
> 
> As always, constructive critique is welcomed and encouraged. You can find me screaming about video games on twitter.


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